by Staci Hart
“Kara?” Lex asked impatiently. “Any day now.”
“Coming!” Kara closed the bedroom door but for a crack and hoped to God Lex didn’t want to borrow any shoes.
She hurried to the front door, and Lex blew in.
“I’m sorry,” Lex said in a whirl. “I know it’s early, but I’m kind of freaking out.” Lex stopped in the middle of the room, eyes narrow, and looked around like something smelled. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Kara said a little too flippantly and changed the subject. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?”
Her suspicion melted when she remembered why she was there. “Yes, I’m fine. I mean, no, not really, but maybe this isn’t as big of a deal as I think it is. Or maybe I’m just being stupid about the whole thing. I don’t know.”
“Okay, slow down. You’re unglued. I would offer you coffee, but I’m pretty sure you do not need caffeine right now.”
Lex dropped her bag next to the couch and sat down. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Just break it down for me.”
She took a deep breath. “I’m just freaking out about Dean. It’s happening tomorrow. Like, in twenty-four hours. I know I had a plan — just friends, right? Well, what if I can’t do that? Or what if we run into Travis? Or what if you run into him? Because I’m supposed to be with you.”
“I think Travis and Roe are spending the day together tomorrow.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“Oh, I just heard them talking about it at practice,” she said, shooting for breezy as she sat next to Lex. “I can hang at home tomorrow, if it would make you feel better. I wanted to rewatch Game of Thrones anyway.”
“The books are better.”
Kara gave her a flat look. “Don’t be that girl, book snob. Anyway, I don’t have three months to read the seven thousand pages required to get through that epicness, so I’ll just watch. And don’t change the subject. What are you scared of?”
“Everything,” she said dramatically.
“Okay, give me the bullet points.”
Lex took a deep breath and verbally exploded. “I’m afraid I’ll like Dean. I’m afraid I won’t. I don’t want to lie to Travis, but I know it’s the only way to do this. I’m afraid of getting hurt, and I’m afraid of being alone, and I swear to God, if tomorrow doesn’t get here fast, I’m going to have a fucking nervous breakdown.” She blew out a breath.
“Feel better?” Kara asked.
Lex sagged. “A little.”
Kara put an arm around her friend. “Lex, it’s going to be okay. You hear me? By tomorrow night, you’ll know what to do.”
“How can I even sleep in the same bed as Travis tonight? Last night, I thought the sheets were going to catch on fire or that I was going to get sucked into the bed like Johnny Depp in A Nightmare on Elm Street. The guilt is too much. I’m going to break.”
“Well,” Kara started, “you could tell him the truth now.”
The face Lex made was comically incredulous. “I cannot tell him I’m going on a date with Dean. Are you mental?”
But Kara shrugged. “You could just tell him you want to break up.”
“Yeah, and then when he finds out why?”
“Well, what’s worse? Break up with him now and lie to him about why or break up with him later and go on a date with someone behind his back?”
Lex groaned. “Honestly? I don’t even know if I can lie to him about why, not as worked up as I am about this date. I’m so jumpy. I mean, look at me.” She motioned to herself.
“Do you really think you’re going to be more chill after the date?”
“I have no idea. This whole thing is a mess.” Lex dropped her head to her hands. “I just … it’s complicated. I don’t want to lie if I don’t have to. I don’t want to tell him it’s not working out and then show up to practice dating Dean. If I’m going to be with Dean, Travis needs to know the truth, but I won’t know for sure until after tomorrow.”
“That is reasonable.” Kara gave her a squeeze and offered up a plan. “Stay here tonight. Tell Trav that we’re going out. We’ll watch Sixteen Candles and pick out your outfit for tomorrow.”
“You’re a genius.” She smiled, relieved. “And you had me at Jake Ryan. Okay, let’s do it. I’ll go home and get my stuff and come back this afternoon, yeah?”
“Sounds good. Now, get out.” Kara stood and pointed at the door.
Lex giggled. “God, you act like you’re hiding a boy in here or something.”
“No, I just really need to poop,” Kara said, pushing her toward the door. “Now, seriously, go.”
The friends embraced in the doorway before Kara shoved her out and threw the chain on the door. When she turned around, Roe was standing behind her, looking worried.
Kara jumped out of her skin. “Jesus, Roe!” She whacked him on the chest.
“Sorry, sorry.” He threw his hands up in surrender. “Is she okay?”
“She’s taking her neurosis to the next level, but yeah, she’ll be okay. Do you get it now? She’s nuts about him. Like, literally, he’s driving her crazy.”
“Yeah, I’m beginning to understand,” he said with a laugh.
“Well, the bad news is, we’re off for tonight.”
He picked her up, and she squealed. “Then we’d better make the most of right now.”
Dita watched the trees sway in the breeze as she lay on Adonis’s chest in Elysium, relaxed for the first time in days — Lex and Dean were going on a date, and she had the finish line in her sights.
She sighed as he wound his fingers through her hair.
Apollo had been too calm, considering that Lex and Dean were hours away from admitting they were meant for each other, and Dita had suspicions that something major was about to go down. But she was confident that once their date was done, the deal would be sealed. If she hadn’t won by then, victory would be right around the corner.
She was relieved that she and Adonis had come to a truce, tentative though it may have been. To waste what little time they had together arguing was frustrating and obnoxious.
“How goes the competition?” Adonis asked, reading her mind as he stared up into the tree.
“Actually, I am unsure. I am ahead, but Apollo has something planned.”
Her face rose and fell as he sighed and said, “He generally does have something planned, does he not?”
She pushed herself up onto an elbow, and her hair spilled across his chest. He pushed it over her shoulder with his finger.
“Yes, he generally does,” she said simply.
She rested her chin on his chest, and he resumed playing with her long golden curls, running his fingers through the waves.
Apollo knew well enough how to push her buttons. They always ribbed each other, especially during competitions — they had too much baggage, and the stakes were too high. But she had never seen him so determined, not even during the Shakespeare competitions. Those had gotten ugly.
“I suppose there’s nothing to do but wait,” Dita said. “I hope their date tomorrow goes as well as I believe it will. There’s little else I can do. But I will admit — I have been losing sleep over this.”
Adonis chuckled as he cupped her face in his big hand and pulled her to him. “Now, we cannot have that, can we?”
Day Twelve
Lex turned around and scrutinized her reflection in Kara’s bathroom mirror again.
She’d never been so nervous for a date in her entire life.
Her nerves were on high as she fussed over her hair and clothes, wondering if she’d picked out the right thing to wear — jeans, combats, Army green military jacket — worrying over what would happen in the hours to come. Basically, she was doing the same thing she’d done for two straight days since Dean had asked her on a date: freaking out.
She hadn’t seen Dean and had barely seen Travis, having avoided band practice like the plague. All she’d done was work and hide at Kara’s, a
nticipating the date.
The moment was finally upon her, and now all she wanted to do was run in the other direction.
Lex took a deep breath and turned toward the bed, holding out her arms as she did a little spin. “Are you sure it’s not too casual?”
“You look fine.” Kara smiled a crafty smile. “I’m pretty sure you’d knock his socks off even if you wore a muumuu.”
Lex slung on her bag and took a breath before turning to Kara, who looked at her with lively blue eyes.
She grabbed Lex’s shoulders. “You can do this, okay?”
Lex nodded once. “Okay.”
“Don’t freak out.”
“Okay.”
“Text me if you need me to bail you out. And, Lex?”
“Yeah?”
“Try to have fun. You look like you’re about to walk the plank.”
Lex tried to smile, praying she wasn’t going to puke. “I can do this.”
Kara smiled successfully, and it gave Lex a little hope. “That’s the spirit.”
The January morning was brisk as Lex made her way to the coffee shop, her thoughts firing in her brain like Black Cats in a tin can.
Maybe her outfit was all wrong, and she should have worn something more formal. She rolled her eyes to herself — like he’d really be taking her to the ballet. Lex shoved her hands into her pockets, her palms sweaty even in the chill, and she absently hoped she wouldn’t have to shake his hand.
You really think he’s going to shake your hand? God, Lex.
Maybe the whole thing was a mistake. There was still time to run. That thought made her feel even more sick.
What am I even doing?
Other than having a mild personal crisis, she wasn’t sure.
But when she walked into the coffee shop, she remembered exactly what she was doing and why.
Dean sat at a table near the door, waiting for her, his smile bright, relieved. She found herself mirroring him, fighting to keep her wits.
He stood and walked to her, the proximity intoxicating her with every step.
“Hi,” he said quietly, nervously, happily.
“Hi,” she answered in kind.
The silence stretched between them as they took each other in.
Dean cleared his throat and reached into his bag. “I brought this for you.”
Her heart lurched when he handed over her notebook, and when she took it and her fingers brushed his, the shock of the connection jolted up her arm. She fumbled to put the book in her bag. “Thanks … so, you read it?”
“Every page, every word.” His voice was soft, heavy with things unsaid.
When she looked up at him, everything else fell away — her worries, her fears, the people around them. His wide lips parted, begging a kiss, and her eyes began to close, her chin lifting as he leaned down.
She remembered herself and took a deep breath as she stepped back, willing her nerves to calm.
“Where to first?” she asked with a smile as she tried not to pass out, and he smiled back as he laid a hand on the small of her back to guide her out of the shop.
Dean pushed the door of the coffee shop open for Lex, feeling her presence like it was a tangible thing.
She’d shown up.
It had been days since he’d seen her, days that left a gaping hole in his heart. The couch had been empty through practice, her voice gone from the warehouse, from his life. Her absence heightened his desire to see her and his worry that she’d changed her mind.
But then she’d walked through the door looking unsure and afraid — the minute their eyes met, it all melted away. And when she smiled, his heart sang to her, lighting him up from the inside.
Once it got started, their conversation was easy as they walked to the subway. Music was the ice breaker, and as they sat next to each other on the train, her thigh pressed against his, her words in his ears, that common thread soothed him, eased his nerves.
She loved music as much as he did.
Lex was a connoisseur, providing little known facts about bands and singers all the way back to the forties. As she told him about Fleetwood Mac and the drama and pain that went into creating Rumours, he found himself smiling at her wide eyes and pink cheeks, recounting the love and loss and hardship they faced and endured, turning the events that would have broken another band up into art, binding them together.
Passion. She had passion for the things he loved. Words and art. Sounds and songs. They spoke to her heart as they spoke to his; it was an innate awareness of the intangible that they both shared.
She didn’t have to try to understand him — it was latent, present. She saw the things that weren’t obvious, that weren’t spelled out.
And that made being with her so easy. Too easy.
His chest ached as they exited the train and climbed the stairs of the station. Nothing in his life had come easy before. And that thought brought him anything but comfort. Because he didn’t know if he could keep her. He only knew he desperately wanted to.
The day was crisp and cool, the sun high and bright, feeling farther away than usual in the winter sky as they walked through Central Park and to the Bethesda Fountain. They found a bench to occupy and sat, finding a comfortable silence as they opened their notebooks and touched pen to paper.
Dean’s arm rested on the back of the bench, his other hand writing verse after verse, spilling out of his heart and onto the page. Lex nestled into his side, her warm body fitting the crook of his arm, the perfect height, the perfect shape.
The silence was full and easy, without expectation, without demand. It was quiet space that didn’t need to be filled by anything but their hearts, their breath, the world around them.
He glanced at her notebook, which was angled to him, and she looked up at him, smiling as she tilted it even more so he could see. The sketch was of a little boy who had been walking the wall of the fountain with his arms out for balance, a look of concentration glued on his face. His expression was what struck Dean the most — she had the ability to read and translate a feeling through lines and shades of her pencil, freezing a moment, an emotion, in time.
She was brilliant.
He was in awe.
After a little while, they wandered to the far side of the courtyard to the Bethesda Terrace bridge, through the wide columns of the lower passage. Lex tipped her head back, and he watched her take it in — the beautiful tiles on the ceiling and walls shone like gold, like a fairytale ballroom, right in the middle of Central Park.
They stopped to watch a street performer, dressed as if from some ancient time, dreadlocks piled high on his head and a red feather plume flying proudly from the top. Chains wound across his naked chest to his back, and a silver cuff wrapped around his bicep, his ankles clad in bells that chimed as he danced. His beautiful face held his violin in place as he sang a haunting prayer with the weight of ages pouring out of him. A large crowd gathered, everyone silent, experiencing his pain and joy and madness with him as he moved, possessed, around the circle.
Lex leaned into Dean, and he wrapped his arm around her, the two so absorbed in the song, it was only natural, only right to hold each other.
Dean moved first, breaking Lex’s trance, and she was not at all surprised that her arm was around his waist, her head on his chest, his hand on her hip. And she didn’t pull away as they turned and left the Terrace bridge.
He was all she hoped for and all she feared.
One day, and everything hinged on the decision she would make at the end.
But the truth was, the decision had already been made. She’d never really had a choice in the matter.
When they had street dogs in hand and were walking toward the Met, she tried to remember the promise to herself, the promise to honor Travis. And instead of reaching for his hand as they walked up the museum steps, she shoved her hands in her pockets.
They walked up to the door, and Dean ran his hand through his hair again — it never seemed to stay put, and she smil
ed to herself, wondering if it was as soft as she imagined.
He bought her ticket, pulling his pass out of his pocket as they walked up to the attendant.
“Hey, Lou.” Dean smiled at the man taking tickets, who raised an eyebrow as he looked at Dean, then at Lex, then back at Dean.
“Hey there, son. And how are you, miss?” Lou took her ticket, tore it, and handed her the stub.
“Good, thank you,” Lex answered, wondering just how often Dean came to the museum. Apparently it was often, and she figured it was safe to assume by Lou’s reaction that he usually came alone.
“You kids enjoy yourselves now.” Lou tipped his hat over his shoulder as they walked away.
“This is one of my favorite places in all of the city,” Dean said as they climbed the stairs to the exhibits.
She looked over at him as he stared at his worn combat boots, avoiding her eyes. Even though his hair was faded on the sides, the top was a little long and always mussed. The collar of his black leather jacket was slightly flipped, and his army green thermal stretched tight across his chest.
“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid,” he said, the words unsure. “My home life wasn’t … well, I guess you could say it wasn’t stable, so when I needed to get away, I’d come here or go to Central Park or the library. But the Met was where I came most often. I used to spend hours walking through the exhibits and writing. I skimmed out of my mom’s wallet for months to get my first membership.”
She didn’t answer, and he stole a glance at her. When she met his eyes, she found them heavy with sadness and fear and worry over her reaction. But all she had to give him was her compassion, and when they reached the top of the stairs, she reached for his hand, winding her fingers through his.
And when he smiled, she knew he understood.
“Come on,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Let me show you my favorite exhibit.”
They stopped in a room filled with heavy silence, and she complied with it as she moved around the works displayed there. Dean sat down on a bench in the center of the room and watched her take it all in.